


scars and all

by tsunderestorm



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: "I’m thinking about how no matter how much it hurts, every wound fades with enough time. The skin grows back stronger."
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	scars and all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greatcatsbys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatcatsbys/gifts).



> I asked for prompts on my [twitter](twitter.com/tsunderestorm). The prompt for this was, "You aren't the only one with scars, you know."

Their lives are dictated by scars. 

On skin, on souls, a litany of blemishes that can never be forgotten. The puckered scar on Tseng’s arm from a gunshot, a botched mission. The clinical, surgical scar on Rufus’ chest, the echoes of titanium plates to fix his mangled ribs. The twin scars on Tseng’s chest and back; Masamune’s entry and exit. The way Tseng wakes out of nightmares and can’t shake the visions of silver hair and sharpened steel. The way Rufus’ arrogance is matched only by his self-doubt, always searching, hungry, for validation beyond the superficial.

Scars, like the ones gouged into Gaia. The rot and the ruin permeates through the entirety of the Planet, on her surface, down into her core, through the lifestream itself. brands in the shape of the Shinra Company’s logo. When Rufus closes his eyes, he can see them, laid out like a patchwork quilt across the landscape blanketing the land.

_You aren’t the only one with scars, you know_ , Rufus tells himself when things seem dreary. How much he has changed, that he can be so altruistic, that he can think not only of himself. He thinks that maybe Tseng said it to him, once, a jest or a jibe. Perhaps it was accompanied by a “Get over yourself, Rufus,” the kind of thing that only Tseng would dare to say, and only in the late hours of the night when the lines are soft and blurry. When Tseng is simply _Tseng_ , no masks, and Rufus is a man and not the Vice President.

Or maybe he is making that up. A dream, maybe, the kind that transpires only from his death-sleep when the stimulant wears off and he collapses, exhausted, into his bed. Wishful thinking, perhaps, for Tseng to truly _let go_ , to tease him, scold him, positively fucking _berate_ him. Anything different than the worry that weaves through their every interaction, Tseng’s unending delicacy unless a Rufus orders him to abandon it.

“Rufus,” Tseng says, because they are alone, because a name tastes better on his tongue than _Mister President_ and it is one small indulgence he will allow himself. “You are distant. Is there anything that you would like me to do? What are your thoughts?”

Rufus looks at him. His most loyal Turk, his right hand, his lover.

“I’m just thinking about scars,” Rufus answers, as if this is a normal thing to be thinking about in the middle of the day.

“Scars, sir?” Tseng clarifies, hesitant. Beneath his layers, he has several that still ache. Respectfully, he continues, “Contemplating permanence, then?”

Rufus laughs, “More so the opposite. I’m thinking about how no matter how much it hurts, every wound fades with enough time. The skin grows back stronger.”

Tseng dips his head, smiles. “A rebirth, then. Scars and all.”


End file.
